The Chronicles of Narnia Dynasty's End
by Flash Foreward
Summary: When a prophecy tells of the end of a Dynasty, the king of Narnia assumes his death is nigh and takes every precaution, violent or otherwise, to ensure that his family reigns forever. But he never counted on our world, or the idea that war wasn't to come.
1. London House

**A/N:** This is something I felt I had to write...Enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Chronicles of Narnia

**The Chronicles of Narnia:  
Dynasty's End**

_"What we are is God's gift to us. What we become is our gift to God."  
-Eleanor Powell-_

**Chapter One****  
London**** House**

There was a house in London owned by a young man named Digory Kirke. Digory could not bring himself to sell the house, for it held memories too dear to him. The memories of his adventures in another world, and of his mother's recovery, and of his days spent with his next door neighbor, Polly. But, though Digory would not sell the house, he did rent it out in the summer while he spent those long, warm days in the country.

This particular summer, Digory had rented the house to a widow and her son. The widow, Mrs. Glenys Cooper, was a good friend of Polly's, and Digory could not turn down a good friend of Polly's. Glenys only wanted to make use of the house for one summer, while she and her son, Matthew Cooper, sorted things out in the wake of her husband's death. Digory had assured her that she could rent it for as long as she needed.

"Say thank you to Mr. Kirke, Matthew," Glenys told her son on the day they arrived as he helped her out of the handsome.

"Of course, Mum," Matthew replied, offering her his arm and leading her up the steps to the house's front door. Digory stood on the porch, his hands clasped before him, watching the young man and his mother. He stepped forward when the two reached him, pulling open the door for them to pass through. Matthew allowed his mother to go first before turning to Digory and inclining his head in a small nod.

"Thank you, Mr. Kirke," he said. Digory waited until the young man looked up at him again, then he proceeded to wink and let a secretive smile grace his features. Matthew stared at him for a moment before shaking his head and following his mother inside.

"I'll bring in the rest of your bags, shall I?" Digory called after them. Matthew relayed the message to his mother before asking her permission to explore the house.

"Just don't break anything," Glenys said.

"I shan't," Matthew replied before taking the stairs two at a time up to the second floor. He peered into each bedroom that he found, going through a mental checklist of likes and dislikes as he searched for the room he would choose to inhabit over the course of the summer.

Meanwhile, outside, Digory carried the bags containing what few belongings Glenys and Matthew had up the walk, musing on the small family that would be occupying his house during the summer months.

His mind dwelled mainly on the young man, on the sad brown eyes set in a face that could be considered strong and imposing, and wondering what could have happened to make a boy seem so prematurely old. At first, Digory had thought the cause was Mr. Cooper's death, a difficult event for anyone, particularly a boy who bordered on the edge of being a man; but Digory had also seen how deep the sadness went, and he had realized that there must be something more.

When he reached the house, Digory set the bags near the stairs and found Glenys bustling about in the kitchen, mumbling something about a long trip and the need for sustenance.

"Are there any tricks to this place?" she asked when she noticed Digory leaning against the doorway. Digory shook his head and she continued her work, leaving her landlord mildly amused, but the sight still did not drive away his concern.

"Is the boy all right?" he asked. Glenys stopped in her tracks, a pan clenched in her hand. She turned to Digory, her face unreadable.

"He's fine, not that it's your business," she said. "His father's death has just been hard on him, that's all."

"Of course," Digory said, nodding knowingly. "The loss of a parent is one of the greatest tragedies in a child's life."

"He's hardly a child, Mr. Kirke," Glenys replied, returning the pan to its cupboard.

"But, the point still stands." Glenys looked at Digory once again and found his face solemn, more solemn than she ever would have expected. From what Polly had told her, Digory was a light hearted soul, and Glenys had never expected to have such a serious conversation with him.

The moment was ended by the sound of pounding feet descending the front stairs, and Digory's face took on a jovial expression. Glenys decided she'd imagined it all, and, wiping her hands on her apron, pushed past Digory and out into the front hall just as Matthew reached the last step.

"I've found my room, Mum," he said, stepping down slowly to the floor and standing quite still by the luggage. "May I take my things up?"

"Yes, and mine as well," Glenys replied. "But no running this time, you hear?" Matthew nodded bent to pick up his suitcases, Glenys returned to the kitchen, while Digory surveyed the young man, an idea forming in his mind.

"Matthew?" Digory said, drawing the young man's attention. Matthew looked at him, clutching his suitcases at his sides.

"Yes, Sir?" he asked.

"I've a secret for you," Digory replied. "Come here." Matthew set down the bags and followed Digory through the house to a back window, looking out at a tall, imposing tree. "Do you see that tree?" Digory asked.

"Yes, Sir," Matthew said, nodding, wondering how anyone could _not_ see that tree.

"It's a magical tree, Matthew," Digory explained. "It came from another world, and grew from a silver apple which had saved my mother's life."

"Right," Matthew scoffed, turning away from the window. "I'm a bit old for fairy tales, Mr. Kirke," he said, walking back through the halls to the stairs. Digory followed, waiting until Matthew had started up the stairs before speaking once more.

"Dig by the roots," he said. "Close to the trunk. See what you find, then tell me if you're too old for fairy tales or not."

Matthew didn't respond but merely continued his way up the stairs. Digory watched him go, wondering if he would follow the cryptic instructions or not. Either way, he smiled at the thought that perhaps he had found a way to bring a smile back to Matthew's face.

"Well," Glenys's voice came from behind Digory and he turned to face her. "Thank you very much, Mr. Kirke. You've no idea how much this means to us."

"It's my pleasure, Mrs. Cooper," Digory replied, moving to her side. "Any friend of Polly's is a friend of mine. Do you need any help before I leave, or have you found everything?"

"I think I've found everything," Glenys replied with a small smile. "Thank you anyway." Digory nodded and started towards the door, but Glenys quickly set a hand on his arm, pulling his attention back. "I wanted to apologize for earlier. You were only trying to help, I'd no right to react as I did."

Digory smiled. "That's quite all right," he said. "I understand. He is, after all, your son." And with that, Digory Kirke took leave of the family staying in his London house, musing as he traveled to his home in the country on what might occur there that summer.


	2. Dig by the Roots

**Chapter Two  
Dig by the Roots**

"There's many a fine girl in London, Matthew," Glenys said. She and her son sat across from each other at the dining room table, their plates filled with stew and vegetables and biscuits. Matthew didn't speak, he only nodded and continued with his meal, and his mother left it.

She'd raised similar topics many a time, and always gotten the same response, even prior to her husband's death. While her husband would have pounded his fist on the table and demanded Matthew answer his mother, Glenys was content to assume that it was simply Matthew being Matthew, the quiet boy she'd raised.

_He'll come around in his own time,_ she told herself. And she believed it, too.

They finished their meal in silence, and Matthew cleared the dishes for his mother, but when he tried to do the dishes she shooed him away, assuring him that she had it taken care of. Matthew nodded and took leave of his mother, trudging up the stairs to his bedroom.

He closed the door, wishing he had a way to lock it, and lay back on his bed, gazing up at the ceiling. He didn't dare close his eyes, fearing what images might lurk in his mind. His stomach gurgled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten much at dinner, which in turn led to thoughts of why.

He tried to keep his mind from straying to his mother's talk of his choosing a wife, preaching about the fine girls he would find in London, while all he could think of was slipping away and never giving thought to 'fine young ladies' ever again. But, as is often the case when we try to control our thoughts, Matthew found that he could not help but dwell on the awkward conversation and the feelings and memories it had dug up.

He recalled times when he felt like much of a failure, like he was letting his parents down. The times when he knew he was being encouraged to court a certain girl, but could not bring himself to do it. He enjoyed spending time with her, of course, but had no interest in asking her to marry him…or any other girl, for that matter.

He'd told his father this, not wanting to disappoint his mother, and he'd received a sharp slap on the head for his trouble, so he never mentioned anything about it again, and he secretly wished he could be the man his parents wanted him to be and marry a fine girl.

As his thoughts dwelt on this, he felt himself drifting to sleep, and soon was dreaming the same, cryptic dreams he always did.

Dreams of a green forest, where animals looked at him sideways and scurried away, all but a lion who stood on a mountain in the distance. Matthew would make his way to the mountain and try to climb to the top, but he never made it. He would come close, then the lion would roar and the mountain would shake and Matthew would fall.

He constantly got back up again, helped by the hand of a faceless stranger, and he always went back to the mountain. There was something about that lion, something that told him to go there.

This night, he almost made it. As he neared the top, his fingers brushed the lions paw and he felt the creature draw away from him, and he thought he would finally find out what was going on. But, again, the lion roared and Matthew fell to the ground. This time there was no one to help him, and he lay beneath a tree, staring up at silver apples, until he felt his mattress beneath him and his eyes fluttered open to his sunlit room.

He groaned and sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes, hardly noticing that he was still wearing the shirt and trousers he'd had on the day before. He dug through his wardrobe for something to wear, the dream forgotten.

He dressed quickly and headed down the stairs. His mother had left a note telling him that she'd gone to the stores and that he should eat an apple. He stared at the single word as he absentmindedly grabbed one from the basket on the counter and began to eat.

Slowly, his dream came back to him, and he found himself wandering through the house and out to the backyard. He stared hard at the tree Digory had pointed out to him, thinking of what the man had said. _Silver apples_. Just like in his dream.

Matthew hurried back inside and searched high and low for his mother's gardening things. He found them in a small cupboard and quickly snatched a pair of gloves and a small trowel before rushing back outside. He fell by the tree's base, trying to decide where to dig first. He decided to start on the side that faced the house, so that by the time his mother was home he would be hidden by the tree's trunk.

He knelt down and got to work.

By the time he reached the other side, he was tired and dirty and wished for a drink, but he refused to go inside until he'd found something. He thrust the trowel into the dirt, struggling against the roots for a few moments before he managed to loose enough dirt for the beginnings of a hole He tossed the dirt aside and set in again, wondering for another time that day why he had listened to that batty Digory Kirke. The man was, Matthew thought, positively off his rocker.

But, still, Matthew dug.

The sun was at its highest by now, glaring down through the tree's heavy branches, and Matthew thought about giving up and going in for a drink. It was then that he saw it, a small glint of light. He dug in a bit more, and found two small rings, one green and one yellow, nestled in the dirt.

He carefully scooped them up, dusted them off and slipped them into his pocket before quickly filling in the hole and racing back inside. His mother was in the front room, her nose in a book, and Matthew stopped a moment to tell her he'd borrowed her tools before going to return them and then heading to his room.

He kept the gloves, though he wasn't sure why, and didn't take them off as he set the rings on his floor and sat cross legged, gazing at them, wondering what it was he was supposed to do with them.

He picked up the green one and held it up before his eyes, turning it round between his fingers. There was nothing remarkable about it, and Matthew set it down and repeated the action with the yellow one. Again, there was nothing of interest, and Matthew soon grew bored with the process. He sighed and returned the rings to his pockets, the yellow in his left and the green in his right (though he wasn't sure why he felt the need to split them up) and returned the gloves to the cupboard.

"Matthew!" he heard his mother call and he hurried to the front room to find her now sewing, repairing a pair of knickers he'd gotten from his father.

"Yes, Mum?" he asked.

"Would you go wash up, please, Mathew? I met the nicest couple and their daughter in town today and they invited us by for dinner," Glenys said, simply.

"Yes, Mum," Matthew said with a small nod. He returned slowly to his room and reached into his left pocket to remove the yellow ring. The moment his fingers touched the object, however, Matthew felt a small tug and found himself floundering in water, though he could still breathe and could not feel the wet.

In a few moments, he emerged in a small wood, surrounded by pools, including the one he climbed out of. And standing by a pool only a few paces away was a great lion, much like the one from Matthew's dreams.

"Come near, my son," the lion said. Matthew stared at him, trying to decide if he should listen. He felt an easy calmness trying to take over his mind, willing him to relax in this place, and he felt no urgency to leave; but the sight of the lion sent a shiver of fear through him and that fear battled with the calm and won.

Matthew shook his head.

"You are afraid," the lion said. Matthew nodded. "You need not be, though your fear suits my purpose."

"A…are you going to eat me?" Matthew finally asked.

"Go back," the lion said, avoiding the question. "Go back; it is not your time yet."

"How do I go back?"

"Take the ring from your right pocket and jump back into the pool you've just come from," the lion replied. "But do not go yet, there is much more for you to know."

"Oh, all right," Matthew muttered, letting his arms fall to his sides, for he'd been reaching for his right pocket, eager to get away from the lion.

"Come near, my son," the beast repeated. Matthew took a few tentative steps forward, half expecting the lion to roar and send him tumbling down a nonexistent cliff so he could wake up in his room, and half expecting to be eaten.

Soon, he was standing before the lion, trying hard not to shake.

"When you come again," the lion said. "This is the pool you are to go into. It will take you to a land called Narnia. Tell the first Narnian you meet that Aslan sent you to fulfill the prophecy and that you wish to see the centaurs.

"Do you understand?"

"I…I think so," Matthew whispered, his eyes on the lion, he hardly took note of the pool. The lion roared, and Matthew took a step back.

"Look at the pool," the lion said, Matthew reluctantly took his eyes from the lion and looked down at the pool. It looked the same as the others, but as Matthew watched, the lion sank his paw into the mud, leaving a deep paw print. Then, he breathed on the spot and the mud dried, hardening the print.

"Do you understand?" the lion asked again.

"Yes," Matthew replied, looking back at the lion.

"Then go back," he said. "Your time is not yet come."

Matthew stared at the lion for a few more moments before returning to the pool he'd come from. He put his hand into his right pocket and slipped the green ring onto his finger. He took a final glance at the pool the lion had stood by, and found that the creature was gone. He shook his head, jumped into his pool, and soon found himself standing in his room.

He decided not to change his pants.


End file.
